Love, Albert

by Simmons, Lynda

  He released Vicky’s hand and snatched up his glass. “I’ll be back,” he said, and stepped out of the booth.

  “Reid, wait,” Vicky called, but he kept going, strolling across the restaurant to the pool tables.

  Willy slid into the other side of the booth. “What’s wrong? What happened?”

  “Albert’s letter.” Vicky slid it across the table, seeing no harm in letting Willy know what he had written.

  Willy eyed the page but didn’t pick it up. It was George who finally slid the thing toward them and held it up so they could read at the same time.

  When she reached the end, Willy slumped back in the seat. “Oh, my.”

  “Yeah,” Vicky said.

  On the other side of the room, Reid had found himself a game already. He stood with three men, all strangers, all smiling and laughing with him. Life of the party, just like Albert. Pretending nothing was wrong when inside, his heart was breaking for a man he’d loved and never really known.

  The ache around her own heart was real, the tightness in her throat painful. She blinked back useless tears and grabbed her purse. She didn’t take time to think or analyze, just pulled out a pen and thrust it at Willy. “Draw me a map,” she said.

  Willy stared at her. “To where?”

  Vicky handed her a napkin as well. “Jackson’s Point,” she said, and looked back at Reid. “Because one way or another, Albert is going to fly in Seaport.”

  FIFTEEN

  George parted the bushes and motioned Reid and Vicky closer. “That’s it over there. Just before the break in the trees.”

  “You’ll have a nice straight run from here,” Willy added, the ferns rustling beneath her feet as she stepped back. “Can you see it?”

  Reid nodded, glancing at the parking lot of the Foley Park Visitors’ Center before turning his attention back to the headland and the outcrop of rock he now knew for certain was Jackson’s Point.

  “I see it this time.” Vicky gave Reid a quick grin. “You were right.”

  “It happens from time to time,” he said, searching her face for signs of reluctance, a change of heart, still not believing she was willing to do this. Seeing only the same determination she’d shown in the restaurant.

  He’d been bent over the pool table, about to take his first shot when she appeared beside him, Albert in her arms, and Willy and George hard on her heels. She’d lifted her chin in that way of hers and told him they were going to Seaport. He was welcome to tag along if he liked.

  George drove, too fast if you asked Willy, but no one had. Not with barely an hour of daylight left when they pulled away from the restaurant, and no guarantee that Vicky would be willing to make the trip in the stark light of morning.

  George brought them into the park along a cow path, assuring Reid that his luxury Lexus was indeed agile enough to take the potholes in stride. Reid had known a moment of doubt, but George was right and he had shared not only George’s pride when that car bounced smartly onto the Old Haul Road, but also his pain when it came time to ease that baby into the ditch.

  The car was now well and firmly mired about a hundred yards back from where they stood in the shelter of pines and oaks, listing sadly to the left with the front tires almost completely buried, proving the ranger right—the trails were indeed muddy this time of year. And if George’s plan went as scheduled, Albert would be flying before the sun went down.

  “Let’s do it,” George said, and stepped back, letting the branches snap back into place.

  Reid and Vicky stayed put, while Willy headed back to the car and George struck out for the Visitors’ Center.

  “I should have gone back for jeans,” Vicky muttered, stepping carefully across ferns and needles to where Albert waited under a tree with her purse.

  She unzipped the top and pulled out the scattering instructions one more time. “You realize you have to chant this.”

  “No chanting. And don’t look so smug.”

  “Sure,” she said, laughter in her voice as she crept in beside him again.

  He parted the bushes in time to see the front door of the Visitor’s Centre swing open. He put a finger to his lips when the ranger stepped out onto the front porch with George close behind.

  Reid had hoped for a new face, someone who wouldn’t be watching for them, and wouldn’t know it was a second warning if they were caught. But even at a distance, he knew it was the same ranger he and Vicky had met earlier that day.

  “Are you sure you want to do this?” he asked. “You can wait here if you’d rather.”

  “And miss hearing you chant?” She slapped the instructions against his chest. “Not on your life.”

  She smiled at him then, quickly, easily and he felt such tenderness for her, such love, that he found it hard to breathe.

  “I can’t tell you how much I appreciate this,” George called to the ranger, his voice loud enough to carry across the parking lot to Reid. “I told Willy we shouldn’t drive the Haul Road this time of year, but she gets a little homesick for the old places now and then.”

  “I understand completely, Mr. Foley,” the ranger yelled back, and offered George a hand down the stairs. “I’m just glad I was here to help. I can’t tell you what a pleasure it is to meet you at last.”

  “The pleasure’s mine, son,” George said, taking the stairs slowly and cautiously, playing his role as the doddering old man for all it was worth. “But it would be nice if we could keep this quiet,” he yelled at the ranger. “Just you, me, and Willy, if you know what I mean.”

  “Mum’s the word, Mr. Foley,” the ranger hollered, slowing his pace to match George’s as they crossed the parking lot, step by halting step.

  “Thank you, son,” George called and flashed Reid a quick thumbs-up behind the young man’s back when they reached the ranger’s pickup truck.

  George climbed into the passenger seat and fumbled with the seat belts and Reid shook his head in admiration. For a quiet man, George showed definite promise.

  “What’s happening?” Vicky asked.

  “They’ll be on their way in a minute or two. Maybe you should let Willy know.”

  Vicky stepped through the trees to the road. She could see Willy by the car and raised a hand to wave, but instead of waving back, Willy started toward her at a trot.

  Vicky shook her head but Willy kept coming, so Vicky jogged along the road to head her off. “I just wanted to let you know they’re coming.”

  “I figured that,” she said, as she drew up, a hand to her chest as she caught her breath. “I want you to do something for me.”

  Vicky glanced back as the truck engine started up. “There’s not much time—”

  “This won’t take long,” Willy said, and held out the yellow shell. “The key’s inside,” she said. “When you throw the ashes, throw this into the ocean for me, too.” She tucked the shell into Vicky’s hand. “Who knows? Maybe next time around.”

  Vicky closed her fingers around the shell, aware of the truck’s engine growing louder. “But you’ve had it so long.”

  “Too long.” Willy looked past her along the road. “I’m not going to open the card he left either. There’s nothing more I need to know. Now you go before George and the ranger get here.” She looked back at Vicky. “By the way, I found a bit of rope in the trunk and tied the front bumper to a tree. I figure the ranger will tow it out from the rear, so I’m hoping he won’t see a thing. Anything to buy us a bit of time.”

  “But the bumper,” Vicky said.

  “I’m also hoping the rope gives first,” Willy said, and trotted back to the car, leaving Vicky with the shell and the key and a silly smile on her face.

  Reid glanced over when she came back through the trees. “I thought you got lost.”

  “Just waylaid,” she said, and they both fell silent as the truck approached.

  Reid flexed his fingers and checked the distance to Jackson’s Point one more time. Ten yards, maybe fifteen, along a dirt path that wove throug
h tall grass and wild flowers. He checked the parking lot. Still empty, and the likelihood of campers arriving at this point was slim. They could get Albert to the Point and into the air in minutes with no one the wiser. As long as the wind cooperated.

  There in the bushes, the air was still, but on the cliffs there was always a breeze, if not a good stiff wind. He picked up Albert as the truck rolled by. “No chanting,” he whispered, and knew that somewhere the old man was smiling.

  He grabbed Vicky’s hand. “Let’s do it.”

  The sun was slowly melting into the ocean, leaving behind a sky streaked with orange, pink, and indigo as they raced along the path to Jackson’s Point. They stopped back from the edge and Vicky unfolded the instructions while Reid opened the box and untied the bag. Ashes drifted up like smoke.

  “Guess he’s in a hurry,” Vicky said, her eyes round as she walked toward him.

  Reid turned back to the point, picturing Albert and Willy as they had been in the photograph—young and defiant, ready to take on the world. “He was always in a hurry,” Reid said and carried the box to the edge.

  “You’ll need this,” Vicky said, holding out the paper.

  Reid shook his head. “I know what to do.”

  No hands in the ashes, and hold the box away from you.

  He lifted up the box, held it away from him, and tipped, realizing only now that the air was as still there on the Point as it had been in the trees. The ashes fell in a clump, puffing on the rocks around his feet.

  “It’s not working. There’s not enough wind.”

  “Hold the box higher. Give it a shake.”

  He did as she said, but again the ashes simply tumbled to the ground.

  “You have to chant,” she said.

  He gave her his most piercing look. “I am not chanting.”

  She shrugged. “It’s up to you, of course. But Albert could end up all over the ground instead of on the wind if you keep doing that.”

  He glanced down. The pile was definitely growing. He kicked it over the edge with his foot and the ashes dribbled down, clinging to the rocks like gray moss.

  She set the page on the ground beside him and held it in place with a rock. “The words are right there if you need them,” she said. “But don t take too long. With a truck like that, George’s car should pop right out of the ditch in no time.”

  Vicky jogged back to the Haul Road to keep watch. She heard the roar of the pickup and glanced back at Reid. He was still holding up the box, still spilling ashes on the ground. She shook her head and ran through the trees to where Willy and George were holding off the ranger.

  “Let me help you with that chain, Mr. Foley,” the ranger was saying, a note of exasperation creeping into his voice.

  “No, no. I’ll do it. This was my fault, after all. Now was that under, or over this little do-hickey?”

  Vicky rustled the bushes and Willy turned her head. Gave her a discreet thumbs up and sidestepped over to a tree.

  “Excuse me,” she called to the ranger. “I was wondering. Do you know the name of this plant here?”

  “That’s wild ginger, ma’am.”

  Vicky inched away while Willy took another few steps to the side. “And this?”

  “Poison oak. Please don’t touch it.”

  Vicky grimaced as she ran back to Reid, looking down at her legs and hoping his botanical training was as strong as the ranger’s.

  “They’re holding him off,” she said when she reached the Point and the growing pile of ashes at his feet. “I don’t know how much longer they can do it.”

  Reid’s head drooped. “Hand me the sheet. And if you laugh—”

  “I won’t laugh,” she said, stifling a smiling as she picked up the page.

  She gripped Willy’s key in her hand, and kept one eye on the Haul Road, while Reid read the lines and muttered about crazy old men with too much time on their hands. Then he folded the instructions into his pocket, picked up the box and held it out over the cliff. “I’ll be listening,” he warned.

  She made a poker face. “You’re doing a good thing.”

  Reid drew in a breath. “Oh, great winds of the north, carry Uncle Albert forth.”

  Vicky frowned deeply, even sucked in her cheeks.

  “Gentle breezes of the south. please don’t get him in my mouth.”

  She clapped a hand over her giggle, and raced back to the trees, unable to listen to any more, thinking that perhaps Reid was right. The chant was the real Albert, the one they had known for years. While the letter, on the other hand, was just a moment of weakness in a man who had been strong all of his life.

  “You’re right,” George was saying to the ranger. “I should have let you handle it from the beginning. What can I do now?”

  “Nothing.” The ranger took off his hat, ran a hand over his hair. “Just stand back while I take up the slack on the chain.” He jerked the hat back on and climbed into the truck. “If you’d just step aside. Not there, Mrs. Foley.”

  Vicky ran back to the point, but there was still no wind to cool her face when she slowed.

  Reid was out there on the rock, lips moving, eyes closed.

  “… tiny zephyrs of the west…”

  Vicky sighed and moved closer, the joke fading with the last of the sun. She glanced back, spotting the moon above the trees. Come to rub it in, no doubt.

  “Reid, it’s over,” she called. “The ranger will be here any minute.”

  But he only shook his head, and walked farther out on the Point, the words coming faster as he raised the box higher.

  Vicky looked up at the moon as Reid tipped the box and ashes drifted to the ground.

  “Come on,” she whispered, and took a step closer. “Come on, damn you.”

  She felt the top of the shell biting into her palm and opened her hand. The key was in the opening, glittering in the last rays of the sun.

  Vicky tipped up the shell so the key slipped back inside and stepped onto the Point beside Reid. He looked at her curiously.

  “I’ll explain later,” she said and wound up for the pitch. “This is for you, Albert,” she called and threw the shell as hard as she could. “Chant now,” she said and Reid started again.

  “Oh great winds of the north.”

  Vicky held her breath as he spoke the lines and the shell ran out of speed. It started to fall and Reid closed his mouth, tipped the box slightly.

  “Please, please,” Vicky whispered, and suddenly there was a breeze. No more than a zephyr really, but it was enough to hold the handful of ashes trembling and uncertain, above the rock.

  “Come on, Albert,” Reid said. “What do you want most?”

  From out of nowhere, the wind gusted stronger, lifting Albert up, carrying him away, out past the point, the cliffs, and the waves crashing below. Higher and higher into the sky. Reid laughed and tipped the box, shook it hard, and Vicky’s eyes stung as she watched the ashes swirl and dance and disappear.

  Albert was flying. And Vicky swore she heard his laughter on the wind.

  Reid lowered the empty box, punched a fist in the air. “We did it,” he hollered, and leapt off the rock, sweeping Vicky up in his arms, kissing her hard and deep. She hung on, completely in love with this man and this moment, while the moon looked on and Kira’s wish still lived.

  The sound of the pickup truck carried to them on the wind, snapping them back, bringing them down. Reid grabbed her hand. “Come on,” he said, and they ran back along the headland, coming up short of the trees as the truck burst into the clearing with the Lexus in tow.

  “Down,” Reid yelled, throwing an arm around Vicky and tumbling to the ground with her, the box rolling away behind them.

  He tucked her beneath him, lying perfectly still in the tall grass, only too aware of the rich, musky smell of the earth, the growing darkness and the steady rise and fall of her breasts against his chest.

  He raised himself up enough so he could look at her. Her lips were slightly parted, her breath
sweet and warm on his face. But it was her eyes that drew him, still bright with triumph and fixed on his.

  Voices drifted to him across the headland on a breeze grown soft and gentle. Willy, George, and the low rumble of the ranger. The car will run. You were lucky. Too bad about the bumper.

  Bumper? Reid thought as the voices were swallowed up by footsteps and the closing of the door to the Visitors’ Center. They were alone for the moment, just the two of them with the night settling all around and the full moon shining above.

  Reid knew they should leave. Get up and run. But Vicky smiled and drew a fingertip across his lips, and he couldn’t think of anywhere else he wanted to be. She whispered his name and he lowered his mouth to hers, no longer thinking of the ranger or the truck or anything beyond the need to feel, to taste.

  There was no holding back this time, no pretense and no courting. Only a passion that wouldn’t wait, and a longing that went too deep to deny.

  Vicky curved her fingers around his neck, drawing him down and holding on hard while Reid slowly, steadily deepened the kiss until both were breathless, panting and itchy with need.

  He drew back, and for one moment she thought to stop, to be strong. But there would be time for strength and sanity later. Right now there was only madness and moonlight, and magic so strong she could feel it all around her.

  His hands slipped under her skirt, and her fingers were on his belt. She was bold and fearless, and in moments he was inside her, locked deep and holding her close while she shuddered and jerked against him.

  He was too hard, too full, but made himself hold on, savoring her release, her warmth. Burying his face in her neck, tasting salt and sweat and hearing his name, a mere whisper as he moved within her. Finally letting go, filling her body, even as she filled his soul.

  It was over in minutes, or maybe it was hours. Time had no place, no meaning as breath calmed and blood cooled. But reality has a way of making itself known, and it wasn’t long before they became aware of voices again. A car starting. George and Willy would be waiting.